


Shackled

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Captured, Fon Slot Seal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbled Requested on Tumblr: The character is captured. How does s/he react?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shackled

He laughs, and can’t really stop. It’s altogether too hilarious  _not_ to, especially when they think some flimsy rope and a fon slot seal would stop him from killing them. It also is likely the reason he’s now in his own private little cell with a private little barred window and a private little cot. The whole damn place smells of metal and disuse, and a good layer of dust remains over practically everything except for the bedsheets.

Such  _kindness_  they offer to their prisoner.

He slides down the wall furthest from the door and sits there, letting his head smack back against the thick metal wall. He licks his lips, tastes the blood there and smiles at the thought that he probably did more damage than what was expected of someone in his condition. His leg twinges at every movement and his shoulder - well, the damn thing will barely move. He moves his leg carefully into a better position and laughs again, empty and hollow and echoing.

They should have killed him. He’s shocked they didn’t. Perhaps Luke’s naivety has been spreading like a disease. It would certainly make the God Generals’ jobs easier - the whole army would fall without trouble. Of course, the Necromancer would never allow such a thing, but even he has softened in the wake of that insufferable redhead’s smiles.

The fading hate springs back and fills him to the brim, but he still laughs little choked chuckles and stares up at the ceiling - metal, too. He is a fool too - there would be no rescue, no recourse for him, and if he attempted escape, where would he go? He failed Van, lost his usefulness as soon as he fell on the battlefield. Mohs didn’t know of his existence but should he learn of it, Sync is certain he would be quietly assassinated. Did it count as assassination if the person being killed was worthless? It is a curiosity worth consideration at least.

Boredom takes hold not long after, and he is not unaccustomed to intense boredom. He closes his eyes and breathes carefully, counting to seven before he inhales, counting to seven before he exhales, and repeating the process over and over until his mind is calmer. Fury still simmers beneath his facade, but he is supposed to be controlled. He won’t show them weakness here.

But it’s all so  _funny_. His lips twitch with a hidden smile. He opens his hand, feels his artes protest and sputter, but they refuse to appear. This, at least, is something he can focus on. It is like picking a lock, only the lock is literally himself and the pick is a thread of power so small that it is impossible to see. He curls his awareness into each bit of the lock with the caress of familiarity and comfort and his slots, as damaged and broken as they are (as they were created), respond with enthusiasm.

He’s so deep in concentration that he barely registers when the door’s lock begins to turn, and it is only the creaking of the metal door and the turning of the doorknob that draws him out of his stupor. He tilts his head back with an arrogant smirk swiped across his lips as the Necromancer enters.

The man is smarter than most of his companions. He keeps his back to the exit and his eyes trained on his surroundings. Even at his full strength Sync is smart enough to assess this man carefully. He watches as Jade folds his arms over his chest and adjusts his glasses.

“Well, well - who would have thought the Tempest would be so easily captured?”

“It cost you a fon slot seal and two battalions to bring me down,” Sync points out as his smirk grows. “Too bad I didn’t take out more.”

Jade tilts his head to the side. “You don’t sound particularly pleased with those results.”

Sync does not respond; instead, he focuses on his slots, reaching for the Daathic artes that are so different. If he unleashed one here, he could probably kill the Necromancer, even if it involves killing himself in the process. He meets Jade’s eyes, the challenge unspoken, and chuckles again.

“Stand up,” Jade orders. Sync, stubborn to the end, adjusts himself and sinks further against the wall, far too comfortable to bother with such stupid orders. He’s left bloodstains on the floor; serves them right.

“Stand up, or I will drag you out of here.”

“Oh? I’d like to see you try.”

Jade is not stupid either; he knows what Sync is capable of, and is wary of that power even if he feels the boy is worthless too. Everyone does; it’s a safe assumption to make that his enemies would feel that way too. He watches Jade sigh and adjust his glasses.

“I will have a healer stop by to deal with your injuries. Then you can stand on your own feet.”

“Don’t want to dirty yourself by touching a replica?” Sync chuckles.

“I don’t particularly care if you are a replica. I am more concerned about that curse slot you are capable of.” Jade’s explanation is simple and if there’s actual concern in his voice Sync can’t hear it. “Perhaps after some food you will be more inclined to be cooperative.”

“Why not just kill me?” Sync asks despite himself as Jade begins to leave.

“I was outvoted,” Jade says and leaves. He locks the door behind him.

Outvoted? Did that mean there were people who actually wanted to keep him alive? Certainly he has some information about Van’s plans, but they couldn’t honestly think that he would give them anything. Sync listens to the fading footsteps of the Necromancer and before long bursts out laughing again, a touch hysterically.

No, it has to be they want information from him. No one would keep alive a worthless, useless, broken replica. 


End file.
